


a star is born

by mimizans



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimizans/pseuds/mimizans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>disney's hercules AU. in which blaine is the shortest demi-god ever and kurt won't say he's in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a star is born

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really, really sorry about this. really.
> 
> also, this fic kind of assumes that you, like me, know the movie like the back of your hand. because why wouldn't you?
> 
> UPDATE: that huge chunk that was missing is now, um, not, so thanks to a elanorelle on lj for pointing it!

Blaine always knew he was different, but there’s something about being chased out of the town square by an angry mob that really drives the point home. He hadn’t meant to knock over that statue, or that priceless vase, or, you know, those columns that made up the infrastructure of the marketplace. But Blaine had been too eager (Wasn’t he always?), and the day had ended with him and Cooper being pelted with rotten vegetables.

Blaine left Cooper to unhitch Penelope when they got home. He knew it wasn’t a cool thing to do, but Blaine didn’t want to be there when Cooper explained to their parents what had happened. He didn’t want to see his mother’s lips tremble or his father’s face turn to stone. Not when he still had the guts of a rotten tomato clinging to his hair.

The sun is setting huge and orange against the sea by the time Cooper comes to find him. Blaine is sitting with his back pressed to the trunk of an olive tree, knees pulled up to his chest. He’s digging in the dirt with his toes, and Cooper scolds him for it.

“Don’t do that, kiddo. You’ll never be able to get all the dirt out from under your nails.”

Blaine shoots him a mutinous look. Cooper sighs. He wipes his hands on the rough fabric of his tunic, awkward in a way Blaine has never seen him, and crouches down next to Blaine.

“Look,” Cooper says, “I’m really sorry about today.”

Blaine laughs, low and bitter. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who wrecked everything. Again.”

Cooper shrugs. “I’m just sorry that these things always seem to happen to you.”

Blaine lets his head fall back against the tree. “I hate it, Coop. I hate this town, and the people in it, and the fact that those guys have never ONCE let me throw the discus with them. Am I really that bad? Am I really a freak?”

Cooper looks at Blaine, hard and intense. “You’re not a freak,” he assures him. “You’re special.”

The sun is completely gone now, and the stars are beginning to peek through the navy swath of the night sky. Blaine has a sudden urge to join them, but they’re so far away, so separate from his existence. He sighs. “I just don’t feel like I belong here. I feel like I’m meant to be…”

He searches for the right word, a word that will encompass where and what and who he wants to be: a big place, loud, full of people - people who love him, who will cheer when they see his face; a place where no one will whisper “freak” or “weirdo” or “loser” behind his back. Somewhere he can love who he is without reservations.

“Like I’m meant to be… somewhere else,” he finishes.

Cooper looks at the ground. It’s soft and damp, and he drags a finger through it, getting dirt under his nail. Then he looks up at Blaine. “Mom and Dad said they wanted to talk to you.”

\- - -

His mother had called him “special” his whole life. And he had believed her, right up until it became abundantly clear that other people didn’t think he was special. They thought he was bizarre.

When his mother had shown him the pendant with shaking hands, his father standing behind her, Blaine had sucked in a breath so fast that he almost choked.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” his mother said, tears welling up in her eyes. “We love you so much. All we ever wanted was for you to live a normal life. To be just like everyone else! But..”

“But I’m not like everyone else, am I?” Blaine traced the engraved lightning bolt with his finger.

“No, you’re not,” his father said simply, and put hand on Blaine’s shoulder. He didn’t smile, didn’t frown, didn’t break his mask. He just asked, “What are you going to do, Blaine?”

Blaine blinked. He thought of stars. “I’m going to leave,” he said.

Blaine hadn’t cried when he said his goodbyes, but Cooper had, his face pressed against Blaine’s shoulder. When Cooper pulled away his nose was red and his eyes were bloodshot, but he smiled at Blaine just the same. “Try to stay out of trouble, little brother,” he’d said.

Three days later, Blaine looked up at the imposing marble facade of the Temple of Zeus and thought that he would really, really try.

\- - -

Lemnos is weird. It’s creepy, and it’s too green, and Blaine swears he keeps feeling something brushing against his ankles, but every time he looks down, there’s nothing there. He’s been traipsing across gloomy meadows and through forests that are definitely haunted for two horrible days, and he still hasn’t found any sign of his trainer. For one horrifying minute, Blaine entertains the idea that maybe he got the wrong Lemnos, and the person he’s looking for is on the other end of the Mediterranean, and he’s going to have to go to another creepy deserted island and wander around for days on end.

Then he hears a giggle - high-pitched, sweet, and coming from just beyond the copse of trees he’s in. Blaine smiles, utterly relieved. He’s found someone, someone who probably lives here and is probably not a ghost and will probably know where to find his trainer.

He walks out of the trees, grinning from ear to ear, and stumbles onto a make-out session.

“Oh, wow, sorry!” he says, covering his eyes.

He hears someone snort. “You can look, moron, all clothing is intact. Unfortunately.”

Blaine peeks through his fingers. Sitting on a stump is a woman with dark hair, brown skin, and the sharpest smile Blaine had ever seen. But she’s alone.

“Um,” Blaine says, “Wasn’t there just someone else here? Like, five seconds ago?”

The woman shrugs. “Nymphs. They hate surprises.” She narrows her eyes. “Actually, so do I. Who are you?”

“Hi, I’m Blaine,” he says, extending a hand. The woman glares at him flatly, and he snatches the hand back quickly. “Um. I’m looking for someone called Santana? Maybe you know her?”

The woman stands up, brushing dirt off of her dress. “Congratulations, you found me. Now what do you want? And don’t you dare say ‘hero training.’”

“I don’t really like to lie,” Blaine says, following Santana out of the clearing.

“You’re shit out of luck, because I’m retired,” Santana says, snapping around. She’s walking backwards, but her footfalls are sure, even over gnarled roots.

“Maybe you could come out of retirement?” Blaine asks, as politely as he can. “I mean, I know I don’t look like a hero - ”

“You definitely don’t,” Santana confirms with a vicious shake of her head.

“ - but I really think that I have what it takes. I’m really serious, Ms. Santana. I want to be a hero.”

“First of all, it’s just Santana. Ms. Santana was my harpy of a mother,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Second of all, why? Hero work is passe, or haven’t you heard? Now get off my island, fuzzball. Go home.”

“I can’t,” Blaine says, and he’s trying desperately not to beg. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

Santana sighs. She braces her hand against a huge oak tree, hip cocked, and fixes her dark eyes on Blaine. “As sad as that is, I’m retired. R-e-t-i-r-e-d. As in 100% out of the hero training business. Done. Forever.”

“I really need your help,” Blaine says, his voice quiet.

Santana shakes her head and looks away from him. “Listen… I didn’t have the easiest time when I was growing up – I’m assuming you didn’t either, judging from your incredibly stupid hair and ridiculously tiny feet. I feel your pain, really, I do. So I promised myself that I would show everyone. I wanted to do something great. And I tried. I really did. I tried for years. But everyone I’ve ever trained has been a disappointment, and I’m sick of it. I tried to build something for myself. A legacy, as fucking stupid as that sounds. The only legacy I ended up with was a string of so-called heroes who were actually just massive losers.”

She looks him over. “And I have nothing against you, Blaine. Even if you are hairy and short and remind me way too much of a muse I dated a while back. But if all those bigger, stronger, faster people couldn’t make it happen, why should I waste my time with your tiny, skinny self?”

“I have what it takes,” Blaine declares. “I may not be the the fastest, or the biggest, or the smartest. But I am the strongest, because I’ll promise you this, Santana: I want it more than anybody. If I become a true hero, then I can go to the place I belong. I can do it. If you’ll help me, that is.”

“And where is it that you belong, exactly?” Santana asks, eying him skeptically.

Blaine grimaces. “… Mount Olympus?”

Santana laughs so loud she scares the birds out of a nearby tree. “Mount Olympus?” she asks, patting his cheek. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

“Don’t believe me, then. You don’t have to.” Blaine shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. “I know how crazy it sounds. But isn’t it possible, just maybe, that I’m telling the truth? That I do belong with the gods, and that I can be the hero you’ve always wanted to train?”

Santana stares at Blaine hard, her gaze appraising. “You really want this?” she asks, after a long moment.

“With everything I am,” Blaine replies.

Santana sighs, then starts walking again, gracefully hopping a root hidden in the ground. “Well, come on then, you retirement fucking up motherfucker. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Blaine watches her walk away for a moment, a slow smile spreading over his face, then starts after her. He trips on the root.

\- - -

If Blaine hadn’t begged Santana to train him, he would have quit on the first day. Santana woke him up by pouring a bucket of cold water over his head and then made him run around the circumference of the island. Twice. And the second day wasn’t any better. Santana yelled into his ear before the sun was up, telling him to rise and shine, because she had a big day planned. Her big plan had been for him to climb the mountain in the middle of Lemnos.

Blaine had looked up to where the rocky crag disappeared into the clouds. “Are you sure this is safe?” he had asked.

Santana had smiled at him, scythe sharp. “Of course. Completely safe. Just don’t fall. We wouldn’t want your training to be cut short so soon, would we?”

Blaine is strong, but Santana is mean, and he learns fast that sometimes a cutting remark can do more damage than a punch to the jaw. Santana is extremely hard to work with. She demands perfection. And Blaine, well - he wants to do things right, he really does. But he’s so used to doing them wrong, and it’s a hard habit to break.

Archery practice is the worst. It’s Santana’s area of expertise, so, of course, Blaine is terrible at it. He practices for hours, concentrates as hard as he can, and listens to Santana snipe at him, but he still can’t hit the target more than two times out of ten.

One afternoon, he’s simply had enough. The sun is beating down on his back, his fingers are leaving blood on his bowstring, and Santana has started keeping a tally on a nearby tree of how many shots in a row he’s missed, cheering when he sends yet another arrow into the ground. Blaine throws down his bow in frustration and starts off towards the beach.

“Excuse me,” Santana calls. “Did I say practice was over?”

Blaine whirls around. “I can’t do it, okay? Just leave me alone!” He’s shouting at her, and he really hates shouting, because it makes his voice hoarse and his muscles tight and then he feels terrible about it afterwards, but he’s just so angry. At Santana, yes, but mostly at himself. How will he ever be a hero if he can’t even learn to shoot an arrow properly? Maybe this whole thing was just a stupid dream, and he should go back to Cooper and his mom and dad. Maybe he is just weird, and not special. Maybe he’s not meant to he a hero after all.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Santana says, breaking into his train of thought. “You don’t get to come to my island, beg me to train you, and then stomp off when it’s just starting to get good.”

Blaine snorts. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Santana, I’m terrible.”

Santana nods. “It’s true. I’ve seen non-corporeal air spirits who are better with a bow than you are.”

“Thanks a whole bunch,” Blaine says hotly, clenching his fists.

“Hold your flying horses, Lyssa. I’m not finished.” Santana picks up Blaine’s bow. “You’re bad at archery. Fine. But I’ve trained a lot of heroes, so let me tell you something: you’re not bad because you’re bad. You’re bad because you’re trying too hard.”

Santana notches three arrow in quick succession. They all hit squarely in the middle of the target, making deep, satisfying noises. She looks back at Blaine. “I was terrible when I first started, too. You want to know why? Because I was too preoccupied with proving myself. Heroes aren’t made, Blaine. They’re born. Let yourself go. Let yourself be the hero you’re meant to be.”

She shrugs. “I hate to be all ‘believe in the power of your heart,’ because, you know, ew. But that’s kind of the gist of it. You have what it takes, Blaine. I know it. So stop trying to be a hero and just be one.”

She holds the bow out to him, lips twisted, faced expectant.

Blaine exhales and shakes his head, but he takes the bow.

\- - -

Even under torture, Blaine would never say that training with Santana was fun, because it wasn’t. It sucked, and he never wants to do it again. He owes Santana a lot, though. She taught him how to harness his strength, how to use a sword, and, yes, even how to shoot an arrow. She’s not really a nice person, but Blaine has sort of grown fond of her particular brand of brutal honesty. He’s going to be sad when he has to leave her.

He tries to tell her this, and she laughs in his face.

“Don’t say your goodbyes yet,” she snorts. “Like I was really going to let you wander out into the world on your own. Please, Blaine, this isn’t my first Panathenaea. If I’m not there, who’s going to hold your hand and walk you through the challenges of everyday life, like tying your sandals and combing your rat’s nest of a head?”

Blaine smiles. “Santana, it sounds like you would miss me.”

She glares at him. “A blatant lie. I have to warn people that they might turn to stone if they look directly at you. I’m concerned about public safety, that’s all. ”

“Uh-huh. We’re friends and you know it,” Blaine says, nudging her shoulder. “So, where are we going?”

“There’s only one place to go,” Santana says. “The place where all heroes have to go to prove themselves.”

“Sparta?” Blaine guesses.

“No, idiot,” Santana says, rolling her eyes. “Thebes.”

\- - -

Blaine notices it first. “Did you hear that?” he asks Santana, slowing his pace.

“Hear what?” she replies, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“It sounded like -”

He hears it again, louder, clearer: a scream, from somewhere off to his left. He looks at Santana with wide eyes. “Someone’s in trouble,” he says, turning towards the scream decisively.

“Slow your roll, Hermes,” Santana says, sliding in front of him. “We don’t know what’s happening. Let’s check it out before you run in, sword drawn, and end up interrupting someone’s kinky sex games. Your face gets way too red when you blush and it weirds me out.”

“Alright,” Blaine says, trying not to blush. “But how will we find out what’s going on?”

“We’ll spy from the bushes,” Santana says. “Duh.” She starts into the brush and motions for Blaine to follow her. They move as quietly as they can through the trees, and soon they come upon a huge blue inlet, one small section of what Blaine assumes to be a very large river.

Standing in the shallows is the single biggest creature Blaine has ever laid eyes on. It has the hindquarters of a horse, the torso of a man, and the most terrifying smile Blaine’s ever seen. And he knows Santana, so that’s saying something.

“Is that a centaur?” Blaine asks, dumbstruck. “I didn’t think they were that big.”

“They’re usually not,” Santana confirms, keeping her voice low. “That’s not your average centaur. That’s a river guardian. And he seems to be taking guard duty very seriously. Look at what’s in his hand.” She points a finger at the centaur’s right fist.

There’s a man there.

Blaine gasps, and starts moving before he knows what he’s doing. Santana is hissing dangerously at him from the bushes, but Blaine doesn’t listen. His father always said that he rushed into things, and Blaine isn’t about to start changing his habits now. There’s someone in danger, so Blaine will help them. End of story.

Blaine wades into the muddy water and marches up to the centaur. As he squares his shoulders, he can hear Santana groaning behind him.

“Excuse me,” he says, as authoritatively as he can when his sandals are full of mud.

“Oh please,” he hears someone say derisively.

Blaine looks up at the man in the centaur’s hand. The man looks back at him, his face showing nothing but practiced boredom.

“Um,” Blaine says, suddenly feeling sheepish. “Do you need any help?”

“Not especially, no,” the man says, glancing towards the centaur, who is just noticing Blaine’s presence.

The centaur looks at Blaine, and Blaine eyes it back warily. “Are you sure?<” Blaine asks. “Because it really looks like you might need some help, and I am totally up for doing that. Helping you, I mean.”

“And just how are you going to help me?” the man asks. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

“Well,” Blaine says. “I happen to have a pretty unique set of skills. I’m sort of - ” He pauses, scratching the back of his head nervously. “You know, maybe it’s better if I just show you. Try not to panic, okay?”

“Why would I - ” is all the man gets out before the river guardian is flying backwards, its fist opening in its surprise. It hits the rocky wall at the back of the inlet hard enough to send a crack shooting through the stone, then sinks beneath the surface of the water.

When Blaine splashes over to the man, he’s sitting in the shallows. His hair is falling in his face, he has mud caked on one ear, and he’s glaring daggers. He’s also the loveliest thing Blaine has ever seen, and it kind of takes his breath away.

“Sorry about that,” Blaine says, laughing nervously. “I wasn’t really sure how else to get him to let go of you.” He holds out a hand to help the man up. “I’m Blaine, by the way.”

“You _should_  be sorry,” the man says once he’s on his feet. “This tunic is one of a kind. I’m never going to get the stains out of it.” He can’t be that upset, though, because he glances over at Blaine with a hint of a smile on his face. “And even though you’ve chosen to start introductions while we’re soaking wet and ankle deep in sludge, I am much too polite to leave you out in the cold. I’m Kurt.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, just to feel how it sounds on his tongue. “That’s a nice name.”

“Thank you,” Kurt replies. “And thank you for you help. I didn’t actually need it,” he says primly, trying to wring water out of his tunic, “but thank you just the same.”

“You’re welcome,” Blaine says, pride swelling in his chest. He’s feeling pretty good about his first heroic endeavor, so, of course, Santana chooses that moment to smack him in the back of the head.

“What is wrong with you?” she yells, coming around to face him. He kind of wishes she hadn’t, because she is seriously scary right now. “What part of ‘assess the situation before blindly rushing in’ didn’t compute for you? Do we need to go back to Lemnos and start from square one? Do I need to pour a bucket of cold water over your head again?”

Blaine sighs and rubs the back of his head. “Santana, this is Kurt,” he says, waving his hand between the two of them. “Kurt, this is Santana. She’s exactly as mean as she sounds.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Kurt says to Santana, “I told him I didn’t need any help.”

“Did anyone ask you, Artemis?” Santana snaps, turning to glare at Kurt. “I get that bathing in pools is your thing or whatever, but I’d rather this moron didn’t get killed or turned into a deer or something.”

“Wait, what?” Kurt asks, his face scrunching up.

“You heard me, moon goddess,” Santana retorts, turning back to Blaine. “But did _you_ hear me? Did my words penetrate that thick skull of yours?”

“I’m sorry!” Blaine says, throwing up his hands. “I just saw that someone was in danger, and, I don’t know... sort of, like, a heroic trance came over me?” He know she’s not going to buy it, but he might as well _try_.

Santana scowls. “Fuck that. You saw a pretty face and walked right into a situation you hadn’t analyzed for shit, Blaine.”

Blaine blushes. “That’s not what -”

“Nope,” Santana says, holding up a hand to silence him. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You were channeling Eros’ overused junk and you know it. Now let’s get out of here before you embarrass yourself any further.” She doesn’t even give Blaine time to protest before she’s stomping back towards the trees, still seething.

Blaine glances at Kurt. “Sorry about that,” he laughs nervously. “She can be a lot to handle.”

Kurt’s smiling softly, and Blaine thinks that’s it a good look on him. “It's alright. I happen to appreciate strong personalities. By the way, that was pretty amazing, what you did to Nessus,” Kurt says, nodding towards the water. “I guess you weren’t lying about having a special skill set.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Blaine says, smiling back. “And I feel like I'm apologizing a lot, but sorry about earlier too. I feel bad about forcing a rescue on you.”

Kurt waves a hand in dismissal. “It’s alright,” he says. “I guess I should apologize for snapping at you earlier, too. Dealing with certain personalities requires a... particular approach, shall we say, and you got caught in the crossfire.”

“It’s no big deal,” Blaine says with a shrug. “You were in the heat of the moment. It wouldn’t be fair to hold anything you said against you.” Blaine watches as Kurt attempts to style his wet hair; he tries not to smile when Kurt purses his lips in annoyance because he can’t get one strand to stay put.

“So, um, where are you headed?” Blaine asks. “I hope you’re not traveling alone.”

A dark look passes over Kurt’s face.“Oh, I’m not alone,” Kurt says quietly. He continues, more loudly, “Where are you going, if I might ask?”

“Santana and I are going to Thebes. It’s part of my training,” Blaine explains.

Kurt tilts his head. “And just what are you training to be?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh,” Blaine says, smiling thinly.

Kurt nods solemnly and draws an _X_ over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

Blaine takes a deep breath and bounces on the balls of his feet. “I’m training to be a hero,” he intones, with all the gravity a statement like that demands.

Kurt smiles, bright and wide. “You promised you wouldn’t laugh,” Blaine reminds him, laughing a little himself.

“I’m not laughing,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “I’m smiling. It fits you.”

“Really?” Blaine asks with a grin.

Kurt nods. “Oh, definitely. You strike such an imposing figure.”

“Now you’re making fun of me,” Blaine says, laughing.

Kurt winks, and Blaine’s knees do their best impression of jelly.

“Well, listen, Blaine, as nice as this little distraction has been, I really do have to get going,” Kurt says. “It’s been lovely, though. The best afternoon I’ve had in a long time. Barring the bad-mannered horse-man, of course.”

“I’m glad,” Blaine says. He reaches out and catches Kurt’s hand. “Will I ever see you again?”

Kurt shrugs. “Who knows?” he says, gently pulling his hand away. “It’s a small world, though. I wouldn’t count it out.”

He starts walking towards the end of the inlet, where the river widens and disappears around a bend. “Bye, Blaine,” he says, looking back with a smile.

“Bye,” Blaine says weakly, watching him vanish into the trees.

\- - -

Within five minutes of their arrival in Thebes, Blaine and Santana almost get run over.

The driver of the chariot seems angry, so Blaine tries to smooth over the situation by apologizing profusely. “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he tells the man, who has his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I’m really very sorry.”

“Sorry?” Santana yells from behind him. She's picked up herself up off the ground, and the dirt on her face is serving to make her look even more terrifying. “SORRY? You shouldn’t be sorry, this ASSHOLE should be sorry for nearly killing us!”

She pokes a finger hard into the man’s chest, and he stumbles backwards. “You ever heard of vehicular manslaughter? Huh? Do you know what the penalty is for that? It involves birds, and your liver being eaten by them. Is that how you want to spend the rest your miserable life?”

Santana in a rage is enough to send most people running, and this guy is no different. Blaine barely has time to blink before the man has climbed back into his chariot and sped off, leaving Santana yelling in his wake.

“Yeah, you _better_ run!” she calls after him, sneering.

Blaine puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her out of the street. “Wow,” he says, smiling. “That was just... wow. I have to tell you, Santana, if I were at all interested in the fair sex, I would be head over heels in love with you.”

“Yeah, well,” Santana says with a grin. “Lucky for you I’m not interested.” She shades her eyes and looks around them, then she points towards a fountain where a group of people has gathered. “Let’s head over there,” she says.

“Why?” Blaine asks, squinting at the figures, obscured as they are by the heat rising off the ground.

“We have to get a feel for the populace,” Santana explains, pulling him along by the arm. “And we have to start building you a rep. Floating your name around.”

Blaine has a feeling that this could go horribly wrong. He loves people, he really does, but they tend to not love him so much. He kind of wrecks everything he touches, and, well, generally people don’t like their lives getting wrecked. He follows behind Santana doggedly, though, willing to follow her lead.

When they get closer to the fountain, they can hear voices drifting towards them over the din of the city.

“Well, look at it like this,” a small woman with red hair says, “we could’ve lost Sue, too!” She holds up an old orange tabby that looks like it’s seen better days.

“And what a tragedy that would have been,” mumbles a man with curly hair as he drags a tunic over a washboard.

“Emma’s right,” says a woman with a ruddy, jovial face. “Looking on the bright side is always better. You don’t want to throw the cat out with the kebabs, Will.”

The man, who must be Will, sighs. “I’m just tired of sitting around waiting for the next bad thing to happen, Shannon,” he says, laying the tunic out to dry in the sun. “Every time we turn around there’s an earthquake, or a fire, or a flood, or a monster bent on destroying the city. What we really need is - ”

“A hero?” Santana finishes for him confidently, pushing Blaine forward. For his part, Blaine bares his most winning grin, all teeth and charm.

“And this young man is a hero?” Shannon asks. Her tone is questioning, but not unkind.

“I like to think so,” Blaine says with a nod. “I’ve only fought one monster so far, but it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself.”

“So you’re brand new at this hero thing?” Will asks, considering Blaine with narrowed eyes.

“I’ve done a lot of training,” Blaine says, glancing at Santana uncertainly. “I think I’m ready to face whatever comes my way.”

“That’s very nice,” Emma says, sighing, “but I’m afraid that training isn’t the same as saving a metropolis.”

Santana huffs. “Give him a chance to prove himself before you write him off!” she snaps. “I’m the one who’s been training him, and I can tell you that his pint-sized self is a bona fide, stuff-of-legends, top grade hero.”

“Aw, thanks, Santana,” Blaine says, turning to her with a wide smile.

She motions for him to close his mouth. “I guarantee that when the next disaster goes down, he will be the one saving this shitheap.”

Shannon looks amused. “It almost makes me look forward to the next disaster,” she says.

“I wish one would hurry up and come so we could get out of this conversation,” Santana mutters.

Just then, Blaine hears someone call his name. He whips around, puzzled. He doesn’t know anyone in Thebes. Who would be calling him?

Then Blaine sees him. Kurt. Rushing towards the fountain. Blaine’s stomach drops, because, wow, Kurt’s still really beautiful. But Blaine frowns when he takes in Kurt’s posture: his shoulders are pulled together, high and tight. His hands are clenched into fists. His face is drawn, and there’s no hint of a smile.

“Kurt, what’s wrong?” Blaine asks when Kurt finally reaches him. “What are you doing here?”

Kurt swallows, hard. “There was a rockslide in the gorge just outside of town, and two boys got trapped. I rushed here, looking for help, and I saw you, and I just - ” He trails off, his face getting paler by the second.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Blaine assures Kurt. He looks at Santana over Kurt’s shoulder. “Looks like we got our disaster,” he tells her with a grim smile.

She smiles back, teeth flashing. “Looks like we did.”

Blaine’ looks back to Kurt. “Can you take us there?” he asks.

Kurt nods.

Santana lets out a whoop of joy. “Then let’s get ready to rumble!”

\- - -

Getting the boys out is easy.

Fighting the hydra? Not so much.

Academically, Blaine knows that cutting off the head is an emphatically <i> _bad_ idea. And okay, so maybe when he did it the first time and two heads sprouted back and Santana bellowed from a safe distance that he was an idiot who was going to get himself eaten, he should have realized that, hey, cutting off the head? Not a good thing to do.

But then there were two snapping jaws to contend with, which resulted in more slicing, and then even more jaws, and even more slicing.

When Blaine finally gets a chance to catch his breath, he looks up and sees teeth, too many to count, and necks and tongues and snorting nostrils, and he wonders vaguely how that could have _possibly_ happened.

“Santana,” he calls, panic rising in his voice, “I don’t think we covered this in basic training.”

He never hears her reply, if she even gives one. There’s suddenly a slim tongue around his ankle, and he’s being pulling up into the air, falling into a pit of scales and talons. He closes his eyes, and figures this must be what going to the underworld feels like. Everything is dark and hard and too hot, and his skin keeps catching on sharp scales and sharper teeth.

When Blaine opens his eyes, he finds himself clutched in the hydra’s claw, pressed against the mountainside with a hundred yellow eyes staring down at him. He thinks of Kurt, caught in the centaur’s hand just a few days ago, and he almost laughs. This can’t be everything, Blaine thinks miserably. This can’t be all I have to give.

Blaine looks up at the mountaintop, to where loose boulders hover on the edge of the cliff. He takes a deep breath and draws his fist back.

\- - -

Blaine wakes up to the sound of applause, loud and insistent. He tries to sit up, which turns out to be a bad idea, because he kind of hurts all over. He wonders for a second why every place on his body is in excruciating pain. Then he remembers - the rock slide, the kids, the hydra… the cliff coming down as Blaine desperately tried to cover his head. He should be dead, he realizes.

“But you’re not,” he hears Santana say, her voice choked with tears, and, oh, did he say that out loud?

“Santana, are you crying?” he asks, smiling through his busted lip.

“Yeah, I am,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “And don’t you dare say anything about it, or I will rip your balls off.” She’s trying her best to scowl at him, but it’s just coming across as a watery sort of half-frown.

“Can I just tell you how glad I am that we’re friends?” Blaine asks, taking her hand, because, hey, he almost died. He gets to be sentimental. “I really mean it. I love you a lot.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Santana groans, her eyes still full of tears. “I can’t take this right now.”

“Well, I just wanted to get it off my chest,” Blaine says, threading their fingers together. “You’re really great, and I would miss you if I died.”

“I wouldn’t miss you,” Santana says, snatching her hand away. “You tried to fight a hydra by cutting off its heads. You are clearly too stupid to live.”

“Maybe,” Blaine agrees, thoughtfully. He glances at Santana. “I know this is a stupid question, but I just have to have this confirmed by someone who hasn’t recently had a head injury: is that applause?”

Santana finally cracks a smile. She looks over her shoulder, to the natural steppes where it looks like all of Thebes is gathered. “That’s not just applause,” she says, helping him to his feet. “That’s applause for _you_ , hero.”

As Blaine gets to his feet, the cheers start getting louder, and by the time he’s standing up straight, the volume is deafening. There are people are far as he can see, crowded together, men and women and children and everyone in between. They’re all screaming, cheering, jumping up and down. And it’s all for Blaine.

“Huh,” he says, letting the shouts and claps and praise wash over him. “So this is what it feels like.”

“What what feels like?” Santana asks, leaning close to his ear.

“To belong,” Blaine replies. He turns to smile at her, and it’s as bright as the sun.

\- - -

 

Kurt was there the day that Blaine beat the hydra. He had a great view of whole debacle, actually. The gorge was spread out before his eyes - far below him, but maybe that was better. He didn’t want to see what Blaine would look like after the hydra had its way with him.

As he watched heads sprout and snap and twist, Kurt had to stop himself from biting his nails. It was a bad habit, one that he thought he’d gotten rid of along with that first boy, so many years ago. He glanced at the shadowy figure behind him, listened to the cold laugh, and remembered a time when his life had been something else.

But that time wasn’t now. It didn’t matter how nice Kurt thought Blaine was (a little goofy, a little grandiose, but very, very nice). It’s didn’t matter how bad Kurt felt about luring him to his death. Nothing mattered except for the fact that the shadow sitting behind Kurt wanted Blaine out of the picture. So Blaine would have to be erased. End of story.

Then the mountain fell, and Kurt gasped along with the rest of the crowd. Shrieks echoed across the gorge. The hydra’s gigantic paw slammed to the ground, clenched tight. If Kurt had been a better person, tears would have welled in his eyes. As it was, he felt his chest tighten around his pounding heart.

When the claw opened, Kurt saw Santana run to Blaine’s prone form. Kurt didn’t know how he knew she was crying; he just did. He would have been crying too, if he were her. He didn’t know Blaine half as well as she did, and he already knew Blaine would be a lot to lose.

When Blaine opened his eyes and reached up to take Santana’s hand - when he stood up, as tall as he could - when the whole of Thebes broke into riotous applause - Kurt couldn’t help it: he smiled, wide and happy, and damn the shadow as his back.

\- - -

Fame was treating Blaine well, from what Kurt could gather. For weeks he was the talk of the town, and then he was the talk of the outlying towns, and then towns farther out than that. Soon everyone had heard of Blaine, from Macedonia to Peloponnesus.

And everyone wanted him - for endorsement deals, for interviews, to come and solve their very own monster problems. And while Blaine signed contracts and grappled with gorgons, teenagers hung up his picture on their walls and prayed to the goddess of love that he would fall madly in love with them. Kurt couldn’t blame them. Blaine was handsome, charming, and sweet. And better than that, he was hero. A real, live, in-the-flesh hero. This was someone they would sing songs about one day, and everyone wanted in on the action.

When Kurt sneaks into Blaine’s sprawling villa, he would like to say that it’s for personal reasons. He would like to say that he just wanted to check in on Blaine and see how he was doing, maybe have some tea and a bite to eat. Chat on the veranda, catch a play, go swimming in the bay. Kurt can’t even begin to express how much he wants to say those things.

But he can’t. He has that dark shadow, and he has obligations. If he does this right, he can get himself out of the mess he’s in, the mess he’s been in for far too long. If Blaine is the price Kurt has to pay for his freedom, then so be it.

Still, Kurt thinks bitterly as he stands in the shaded privacy behind a column, he must have some semblance of a functioning conscience, to be feeling as guilty as he is. His lungs twinge when he sees Blaine saying goodbye to Santana, telling her to take it easy on her day off. He’s so happy, smiling so wide, that Kurt can almost feel his own heart breaking at the thought of what he has to do. But Kurt doesn’t have a choice. This is his way out, and he has to take it. He shakes his head, steeling himself for the force of Blaine’s smile.

Sure enough, Blaine’s eyes light up when he sees Kurt. “Hi!,” he exclaims. “Wow, I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m lovely,” Kurt says with a smile. “It’s good to see you again. I see you’ve changed your wardrobe to something a little less hermit-chic,” he teases, motioning to Blaine’s expensive new attire.

Blaine shrugs, blushing. “Something about looking the part? I don’t know. I just wear what they tell me.”

“Well, money looks good on you,” Kurt says. The clothes aren’t to Kurt’s personal taste, but they’re obviously tailored and very well-made. As for Blaine himself - well, Kurt never held any illusions about his own physical attraction to the man. He hasn’t been up close and personal with Blaine in a while though, and Kurt had forgotten just how lovely he is.

Blaine clears his throat, sounding embarrassed. Kurt tries not to laugh. He isn’t sure if it’s his comment or his gaze that’s making Blaine antsy, but either way, Kurt’s glad he’s having an effect on him.

“Oh,” Kurt exclaims, as if it had just occurred to him, “I couldn’t help but overhear that your illustrious trainer is going to be out of town today. A vacation, I believe?”

Blaine nods. “Yeah. She kind of demanded the day off, and I was more than happy to let her go. She’s worked so hard to get me where I am.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m at a loss as to what to do without her, though. She kind of runs the show around here, as I’m sure you know.”

Kurt laughs. “Yes, I gathered as much from our brief acquaintance. But wait, are you saying that you don’t have any plans for today?” His voice lilts up at the end, sweet and playful.

Blaine drops his gaze to his feet. “Well, no, I guess I don’t,” he says slowly. He glances up at Kurt.

“I might be persuaded to entertain you,” Kurt tells him.

Blaine blushes. “That could be fun,” he says, trying his best to keep his excitement from bleeding into his voice.

“Yes, it could be,” Kurt says, lower than he really means to.

Blaine shivers.

\- - -

Kurt hadn’t thought it was possible to feel any worse about what he was doing to Blaine, but by the end of the day he had proven himself so very, very wrong.

Kurt took Blaine into the city to go shopping for clothes that weren’t provided by his sponsors. Not that they weren’t very nice clothes, Kurt assured him, but sartorial choices were a sacred thing. Blaine was a little wide-eyed by the time they left the first store, but he smiled at Kurt all the same.

“You really love this, huh?” Blaine asked, swinging his hands. (They’d had the purchases sent back to the villa, because, really, that is the least they can do for you when you’re rich and famous.)

“Shopping?” Kurt clarified, resisting the urge to stop Blaine from swinging his hand by catching it with his own.

“No, I mean clothes. Fashion.”

“I guess I do,” Kurt said. “I used to make clothes, once upon a time.”

“But not now?” Blaine asked, moving closer. His fingers brushed Kurt’s. It was probably just an accident, but it sent a thrill up Kurt’s spine just the same.

“Not now,” Kurt confirmed, swallowing roughly.

“Hmm. Do you want to know what I think?” Blaine’s hand brushed Kurt’s again, firmer this time, the pads of Blaine’s fingers dragging along Kurt’s knuckles.

“What do you think?” Kurt asked, just a little breathlessly. He turned his palm toward Blaine’s.

“I think,” Blaine said, smiling as he laced their fingers together, “that you should do what makes you happy. Clothes seem to make you happy. Picking out clothes for other people certainly does,” he said with a laugh. “So maybe that’s what you should do.”

“It’s not that simple,” Kurt said, leaning into Blaine’s shoulder.

“Nothing ever is,” Blaine agreed. “But I have faith in you.”

Kurt ducked his head. “Now why would you go and say something like that?” he murmured.

Blaine smiled at him, looking a little bit puzzled. “Because it’s true, of course.”

Kurt couldn’t help but smile back. And every time Kurt smiled back, he felt like a worse person.

\- - -

The gardens at the back of Blaine’s villa are sprawling and fragrant. There isn’t a leaf out of place, and starlight dapples the pools, making them shimmer.

“This place is so lovely,” Kurt says, bending down to look at a night-blooming water lily.

Blaine sits down on the edge of the pool. “I wanted to have a little piece of nature.”

Kurt looks at him and smiles, sly and accusatory.

“Okay, a medium-sized piece of nature,” Blaine laughs. “Whatever. I love the city, I really do. But I grew up on farm, and sometimes it’s nice to be able to hear the wind in the trees, or the crickets chirping.”

“Do you get homesick often?” Kurt asks, sitting down next to Blaine.

“Often enough that I had to build this place,” Blaine says with a shrug. “Just one of my many weaknesses.”

“No physical weaknesses, I hope?” Kurt asks.

Blaine frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean that it would be terrible if you had something physically wrong with you, that might, I don’t know, slow you up one day,” Kurt shrugs, as casually as he can. “Like a slipped disk, or a trick knee.”

“Nope,” Blaine says. “I’ve always been a really fast healer.”

Kurt sighs. “Blaine, has anyone ever told you that you’re too amazing?”

Blaine smiles softly. “No,” he admits. “No, they haven’t.”

Kurt tilts his head. “What?” he questions, disbelieving. “Of course they have. You’ve been famous for months now, and you get showered with praise all the time.”

“I don’t think that kind of praise really counts,” Blaine says. “They don’t really know me, so how do they know if I’m amazing or not?” He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze resting on the bright stars overhead. “I started this whole thing because I never felt like I belonged. I was always different from everybody else, growing up – the outcast, the loser, the freak. I set out to become a hero so that I could finally go somewhere I belonged.”

Blaine uses a finger to trace a constellation. “Someone important told me recently that I wasn’t a ‘true hero’ yet, and it really upset me. I thought I was already there, you know? I thought that helping people would be enough. I guess I’ve just been down on myself lately, so it’s really nice to hear good things from someone who matters.”

Kurt’s breath catches. “I matter?” he asks, his voice small. He doesn’t want to look at Blaine, but he can’t make himself look away from his face in profile, lit up by the moon.

Blaine turns to him. “Of course you do, Kurt,” he says, like it’s ridiculous for Kurt to have assumed anything else. “I think you’re the one who’s amazing.”

Kurt lets his face drop into his hands. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Blaine asks, watching Kurt get up from the side of the pool.

“Because you don’t know me,” Kurt says vehemently. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Blaine says, standing up. He takes Kurt’s hand. “I know that your name is Kurt, and that you make me smile. I know that you like clothes, and that you used to make them, and that you should make them again when you can.” He looks down at where their hands are joined. “I know what your hand feels like in mine.” He steps close, close enough that Kurt can see every eyelash. “I know that you want to kiss me right now.”

“You don’t know that,” Kurt says, breathless.

“Yes, I do,” Blaine whispers.

When he leans forward, everything around Kurt goes dark and quiet. He knows there should be night sounds, ambient and grounding, but all he can hear is his own sharp intake of breath when Blaine kisses his upper lip, then it’s his lower lip. Blaine’s moving slowly, so slowly, his lips on Kurt’s for what seems like an eternity. When he pulls away, he’s smiling.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Blaine asks, and he’s so smug that Kurt doesn’t even bother replying; he just slips his hand around the back of Blaine’s neck and pulls him back in. Blaine smiles into the kiss and puts his hand on the side of Kurt’s face, the ends of his fingers pushing into Kurt’s hair.

The kiss is long and sweet. Blaine’s lips are soft, but they’re strong, and the way he uses his tongue makes Kurt weak in the knees. It’s the best first kiss Kurt has ever had, and not just because Blaine is a good kisser. The kiss is perfect because it just feels so… right. Like Blaine is the person he’s supposed to be kissing. The person whose hand he’s meant to hold. Kurt can’t explain it, but he feels it, bone deep.

Kurt doesn’t know how long they would have spent kissing (or how far they would have gotten) if Santana hadn’t shown up.

Blaine suddenly jerks away from the kiss, yelping. Kurt’s eyes flutter open, and he sees exactly why Blaine had to pull away: Santana has him by the hair, her fingers pushed deep into his curls. And judging by Blaine’s squeal, she’s probably pulling pretty hard.

“I leave for one day,” she says, “and I come back to an orgy.”

“Do you know the definition of the word ‘orgy’?” Kurt asks derisively. “Two people kissing fully clothed in a semi-public place hardly qualifies.”

“Don’t start with me,” Santana says, pointing a finger at Kurt. “Don’t you have some field you should be frolicking in with your fellow nymphs? Get lost.”

“Don’t we have to go too, Santana?” Blaine asks hurriedly. “You said you want to train at the stadium before we head to Athens, right?”

“You want to do that now?” Santana asks skeptically, finally letting go of his hair.

“Yes, definitely,” Blaine replies, nodding. “I’m so ready to work!” He gives Santana a gentle push. “Go on, I’ll be right behind you,” he assures her. She glares back at him, but she walks towards the glow of the house.

“Sorry about that,” Blaine says with a laugh, moving close to Kurt again. “You should probably wait until we leave to head out. I figure you don’t want to end up walking down the street with Santana.”

“I definitely don’t,” Kurt says, smiling at him. “So. I guess this is goodnight.”

“It is,” Blaine agrees. “I had a wonderful time today, Kurt.”

Kurt thinks about the shopping, and the talking, and the garden, and the kisses. He decidedly does not think about the reason he was here in the first place. “I did, too,” Kurt replies.

“Good,” Blaine says. He leans in to kiss Kurt’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

Kurt watches Blaine ascend the stairs to the villa two at a time. “Goodbye,” he calls.

“Bye,” Blaine replies, a wide smile on his face, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the soft light of the house.

Kurt sighs deeply and sits down on the edge of the fountain. “What in the world am I thinking?” he asks himself aloud, dropping his chin into his hand.

“That’s a very good question,” says a sweet, high voice. “Let’s find out.”

\- - -

One of the only perks (and Kurt hesitates to even call it that) of his years of service to the dark lord of the underworld is that Kurt knows people. Important people, like gods and goddesses and titans and, unfortunately, muses.

Before he met the muses, Kurt always figured they were beautiful, intelligent, and, above all, composed. They were supposed to be the embodiments of the arts, after all, and the arts were serious disciplines that required patience and dedication. Kurt thought that the muses would be serious artists.

Kurt thought wrong.

“This is all so romantic!” Rachel exclaims, letting her head fall onto Kurt’s shoulder.

He shrugs her off. “Which part, Rachel? The part where I’m lying to him? Or the part where the guy I work for wants him dead?”

Rachel tilts her head, considering. “Both, actually,” she says with a breathy sigh.

Kurt glares at her. “You’re just trying to get a song out of it.”

Rachel looks affronted. “Kurt, that is patently false! I’m here because I care about you.”

“You’re here because you care about my awful, dramatic life and that’s it,” Kurt snaps.

“Kurt,” Rachel says softly, laying a hand on his knee, “do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Kurt spits out, turning away from her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Are you sure?” Rachel asks, her voice gentle. She can be so sweet when she wants to be, and Kurt hates her for it right now. “Because the ladies and I were talking, and we all thought it seemed like you might be in lo - ”

“Don’t you dare,” Kurt interrupts, holding up a hand to silence her. “Only heartbreak waits at the end of that road. I would know, as going down that road is the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.”

“That was a long time ago. Anyway, you can’t stop yourself from falling in love,” Rachel says, frowning. “And when he kissed you? There were fireworks, Kurt! Fireworks! Exploding all over the place.” She mimics the starbursts with her hands. “You can’t lie to me, I saw it happen.”

“It’s nice to know that you spend your time stalking me,” Kurt replies, his tone scathing.

“That’s not the point,” Rachel says, not bothering to deny the accusation. “The point is that you’re in love and you don’t want to admit it.”

“I’m not in love,” Kurt tells her, not meeting her eyes.

Rachel smiles. “This isn’t a bad thing!” she says, jumping up from her seat by the pool. She looks down at Kurt, her hands set jauntily on her hips. “Love is the most powerful redemptive force in the world. I should know, I spend most of my day singing about it.”

“There is no way this isn’t bad thing,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “And even if, in some bizarro alternate universe where my life wasn’t a graveyard of broken dreams, this wasn’t a bad thing, your whole theory would still be faulty and ridiculous.”

“And why is that?” Rachel asks, leaning towards Kurt.

“Because I’m not in love with Blaine,” Kurt replies.

A laugh bubbles up from Rachel’s throat. “Kurt, are you serious?”

“I’m completely serious,” Kurt says, pushing himself to his feet. “Falling in love with Blaine would be incredibly stupid. In case you haven’t noticed, Rachel, I’m in a blood pact with the king of hell.”

“I had noticed, actually,” Rachel says with a grimace.

“And the king of hell?” Kurt continues. “He wants Blaine dead. He sent me here to find Blaine’s weakness so that it can be used to destroy him. I would have to be the biggest idiot ever to walk the earth to fall in love with Blaine.”

“Being in love doesn’t make you an idiot,” Rachel tells him firmly. “It makes you human. You have feelings, Kurt. You can’t just ignore them.”

“Yeah, well,” Kurt says, wandering away from Rachel. “I can’t afford feelings. I’m no good for anyone, especially not Blaine. He’s just so… good. He barely knows me, and he already cares way more than he should. I can’t fall in love with him, because I can’t do what I’m doing to someone I love.” Kurt breaks off and looks up to find Rachel smiling sadly at him.

“Do you hear yourself?” she asks, taking a step towards him. “You’re already in love with him. Love isn’t a matter of ‘can’t’ or ‘won’t.’ It’s a state of being.” She sighs, wistful. “The sun sets, the moon rises, and people fall in love. These things have always happened, and they always will.”

Kurt looks at Rachel. His eyes are dry, but his mouth is shaking. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks softly.

Rachel shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that, Kurt. I know a lot, but I don’t pretend to know that.” She reaches out and takes his hand. “I can tell you one thing though. This love - you and Blaine? It’s a good love. A good egg.”

Kurt laughs despite himself. “A good egg, huh?”

“Yes,” Rachel says, smiling brightly. “The best. So don’t beat yourself up about this, okay? Everything will work out. I promise.” She lays her soft hand against Kurt’s cheek. A few seconds of warmth, and then she’s gone, only air remaining where she stood.

Kurt breathes out, long and low. “I really hope you’re right, Rachel,” he whispers. He can feel the shadow gathering, the warmth being pulled from the air and replaced with the chill of death. ‘I really hope you’re right.”

\- - -

Kurt has seen a lot of horrible things in his life, and has even been the cause of some of them. He’s felt guilty about those things, lost sleep over them, cried for the people who had been hurt. He once told Rachel that he felt like his heart broke a little every time.

Kurt realizes now that he knew nothing about heartbreak before this moment.

Blaine is in front of him, and Kurt is shouting as loud as he can. He’s talking, screaming, pleading with Blaine to stop, but no sound is coming out of his mouth. His words die on his tongue, unable to reach past the enchantment he’s under.

Blaine looks torn, upset, wary - and he should, Kurt knows, because the whole thing is a trick, a lie built to break something down. Blaine sets his jaw and makes a demand: he’ll make the deal, he says, and give up his strength, if he’s promised that Kurt will be safe.

A cool smile, a nod, and then the deal is made, sealed with a handshake.

Blaine’s knees go out from under him.

Kurt feels disconnected, like what he’s seeing is a mirage, or a fantasy. He can feel tears on his face, but they’re a distant sensation, as if they were falling down someone else’s cheeks. Kurt thinks dazedly of Rachel, and her smiles, and her assurances they were good, he and Blaine, and that everything would turn out fine. Kurt starts laughing, hysterical and low in his throat, and he’s still laughing when a cold, cruel voice sends Blaine’s world crashing down around him.

Kurt sees the moment that Blaine breaks - his face turns hard, his eyes go blank, and he when he looks at Kurt, it’s as if he’s never seen him before. And he hasn’t really, Kurt thinks. Not while knowing the truth.

Blaine stays on his knees, frozen in place in the middle of the darkened stadium. He stares down at his hands, once golden and strong, now weak and incapable. Kurt wonders what it must feel like to be - be good, be strong, be righteous, brave, heroic - and then to have it fade away. To look down at your hands and find them strange, changed from the last time you saw them, back when you were someone. Blaine is clenching his fists, like maybe if he squeezes hard enough he’ll be strong again, and this will all have been a bad dream.

The shadow pulls away, and light comes streaming in, cutting through the air. Santana had been trapped on the outside, prevented from interfering, and she comes rushing forward now that the spell has been lifted.

Kurt thinks she’s headed for Blaine, to comfort him, to lie to him and tell him that everything will be fine. It takes Kurt a moment to realize that Santana is moving towards him, her eyes dark and brittle. She heard everything, Kurt thinks, and she would rather take revenge than give comfort. Kurt doesn’t know that he can blame her.

“Santana,” Blaine calls, looking up from his fists. His voice is soft, but clear. “Santana, don’t.”

“Don’t?” Santana yells. She’s shaking, Kurt realizes. “This is all his fault!”

Blaine looks at Kurt. “I heard,” he says simply, but Kurt can hear the anger and the sadness and the confusion in the words.

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt says, his voice wavering. “I never wanted this to happen. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he forces out, wiping tears from his cheeks.

Blaine shakes his head. “I can’t believe anything you say now, Kurt. Was everything a lie? Did I mean anything to you?” Blaine asks, his voice shaking.

“Yes, you did. You do,” Kurt insists, taking a step towards Blaine. “If you don’t believe anything else I say, believe that.”

Blaine furrows his brow, but before he can reply, a sound swells up around them: deep, guttural, primal. A roar.

“What’s that?” Blaine asks, looking at Santana quickly.

She looks stricken, and swallows before she speaks. “Didn’t that creepy underworld guy say something about unleashing the titans?”

“Oh no,” Blaine says, the words rushing out on an exhale.

Santana starts up the stairs to the top of the stadium. She snaps her head back to look at Kurt. “I hope you know that it’s all your fault.”

“I really, really do,” Kurt replies quietly, following her up. Blaine trails behind them, carefully placing his now unfamiliar feet on each step.

Santana stops abruptly at the top. “Holy Hera,” she whispers, and Kurt can hear the terror in her voice.

He gasps when he steps up beside her. The sky above Thebes is dark and storm-riddled, not a ray of the morning sun making it through the thick black clouds. Ash is swirling on the wind, and there’s fire everywhere: the whole city seems to be lit up by a hellish glow. At the center of it all is a cyclops, so tall that it towers over every building in the city. It’s making noises, rough, angry noises that come from deep within its belly. Kurt realizes with horror that it’s calling a name. Blaine’s name.

Blaine’s eyes are wide when Kurt looks back at him. He heard it. And Kurt knows Blaine well enough to know what he means to do.

“No,” Kurt says, his stomach dropping. “You can’t.”

“I have to,” Blaine replies, refusing to look at Kurt. “If I don’t, who will? I can’t sit here and let people get hurt.”

“You’ll die, Blaine,” Kurt grits out, his mouth feeling tight at the edges. “There’s nothing you can do can. It’s out of your hands.”

Blaine finally looks at Kurt, and his eyes are hard. “There’s always something you can do,” he says. His voice barely carries over the sounds of fire and panic. “Always, Kurt.”

\- - -

Kurt can truly say that this is never how he wanted to die. He wanted to die when he was old, and settled, and happy. He wanted to die with someone he had loved for years holding his hand. He wanted his last moments to be peaceful and painless.

But Kurt saw the column falling, and it was as if time slowed down. Seconds felt like hours, each one more terrifying than the last. Kurt could see where the column was going to land, and he felt his heart seize up. No was the only word he could think. No no no. And so he moved.

It was a stupid, selfish thing to do, Kurt thinks as he struggles to breathe under the weight of the column. But he had panicked, and for that one horrible moment when the tower of stone had been falling towards an unknowing Blaine, Kurt had realized something. It became clear to him, in that single, breathless moment, that the worst thing that could happen to him, the absolute worst thing, would be for Blaine to disappear.

Rachel was always singing about love being inevitable, beautiful, and life-changing. She never mentioned what love really was: selfish. Kurt ran in front of that pillar for himself, because he didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t have Blaine in it.

Kurt only distantly feels the column being lifted off him. He’s too stuck on Blaine’s anguished face to notice much else.

“I see you you’re back to your old self,” Kurt says weakly as Blaine kneels down beside him. “You made him promise I wouldn’t get hurt, remember?”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, and Kurt smiles, because he says the name like he said it the first day they met, like that single syllable was something beautiful and fragile, something Blaine needed to keep cupped safely in his hands. “Kurt, why?”

It’s a good question, Kurt admits, but he knows there’s only one answer. “I love you,” he replies simply, his voice wavering. “This is kind of a bad time to confess, I know, but seeing as this might be the last time I see you…” Kurt trails off, smiling sadly.

“You’re going to be fine,” Blaine assures him, but his eyes are filling with tears.

“If you say so,” Kurt replies. “But Blaine, you have to go. You’ve got an entire pantheon to save, remember?”

“Do you promise to be here when I get back?” Blaine asks, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.

“I promise,” Kurt lies.

Blaine leans down to kiss him, and it’s soft and terribly sad. His mouth lingers over Kurt’s for a long moment, the two of them just breathing the same air. When Blaine pulls away, he leaves tears on Kurt’s cheeks.

“Santana’s going to stay with you, okay?” Blaine tells him, getting to his feet. He looks like himself again, Kurt thinks happily, strong and alight. Kurt’s not happy that he’s dying, but he’s glad that at least somethinggood is coming of it. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll be here,” Kurt tells him, and then he’s gone.

Santana sits down next to Kurt with a deep sigh. Kurt knows she’s still angry at him, but she moves his head into her lap anyway, and he appreciates that.

“I really have to ask,” she says, her voice dry. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Kurt grimaces. “Relationship gone bad, blood pact with Hades. You know, the usual.”

Santana laughs quietly. “You are one messed up guy. Blaine likes you a lot, though.”

“I wish he didn’t,” Kurt replies, coughing on the exhale.

Santana looks down at him, a question in her eyes.

“I’m not going to be here by the time he gets back,” Kurt whispers.

Santana runs a hesitant hand through his hair. “Just stay as long as you can,” she says, her voice low. “He’ll find a way to see you again.”

Kurt schools his mouth into a thin smile, but his eyes are already going dark.

\- - -

Kurt doesn’t remember much of the river. He remembers being cold, and weightless, and so very alone, even though he could feel uncountable people around him. He remembers realizing that those were the only things he would be until the end of time.

Then he remembers a disturbance – a change in the flow of the river, ripples traveling out rapidly, waves crashing in the wrong direction. There was a body moving towards him, corporeal, solid, and alive. Kurt remembers a flash of light, brighter than anything he had ever seen.

When Kurt opens his eyes again, they are his eyes, blessedly real. He’s back in Thebes, in his body. He can feel the stony ground under his back and the heat of midday on his face. He blinks against the light, both remembered and present. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they do, he finds Blaine smiling down at him, glowing like the sun.

“It was you,” Kurt realizes. “It was you I saw in the river.”

Blaine puts his hand on Kurt’s cheek, his thumb rubbing gently just under Kurt’s eye. He’s so bright that Kurt almost can’t look at him. It’s a light that Kurt recognizes – it comes from within, shooting from Blaine’s heart as bright as any star. It’s a the light of a god.

Kurt runs a finger along Blaine’s collarbone. “What happened to you?” he asks in awe.

“I figured out what it means to be a true hero,” Blaine answers. Kurt sits up, and Blaine slides his hand into Kurt’s hair. “It wasn’t enough just to save people. I had to save someone special, and be willing to give everything to do it.” Blaine blushes, and it paints his golden cheeks the prettiest rose Kurt has ever seen. “I had to save someone I love.”

A laugh falls from Kurt’s lips. “So you found somewhere you belong.”

“Not somewhere. Someone,” Blaine says, grinning. He stands up and helps Kurt off the ground, pulling him close. “I love you, Kurt.”

Kurt kisses Blaine hard, and Blaine laughs against his mouth.

They both almost manage to ignore the vomiting sounds Santana makes in the background.

\- - -

So, Blaine is a god. But more than that, he’s happy – contented and loved. And he still gets to save people, which is what he loves to do. Kurt teases him about having a hero complex, but Blaine always laughs it off.

When it gets out that she trained a god, Santana becomes so widely sought after that Blaine has to set aside a separate mail room at the villa just to deal with the volume of requests she’s getting. Santana gleefully denies them all. “I trained the greatest hero ever,” she says, haughty. “Why would I waste my time on a bunch of losers?” Kurt secretly thinks that she just wants more time to spend with her new girlfriend, the blonde, goofy goddess of love, but he wisely keeps that opinion to himself.

As for Kurt, he takes Blaine’s advice and works with what he loves. His spring collection debuts to widespread praise, and his masterful work with delicate fabrics is the talk of the fashion world. Plus, he gets to go home at night to sweetest, bravest, truest person in all of Greece. Best of all, though, he’s free - his own man, for the first time in a long time.

The whole story is almost too good to be true. It has heroes, villains, monsters, true love, and a happy ending.

Since she was right after all, Kurt gives in and lets Rachel write the song.


End file.
